Tag Archives: thoughts

I bet you don’t think about the moment I broke your heart nearly as much as I do, but I know you haven’t forgotten about it. Even though it’s been years—four to be exact, I never had the chance to explain to you why I said “no” when you asked me out. So I’m taking the chance to explain now.

I’ll start from the beginning because our history is important to our story. We have been friends since we were children. Once I asked you what your first memory was and you texted, “holding your hand” and I smiled at the screen on my phone. Our families have been friends since then, too; our mothers go out to dinner once a month to keep in touch, and our sisters are best friends.

We had been texting for months those four years ago and I waited, I want you to know that I did wait, for you to mention something about a date. But nothing ever came. You never made a move and I was shy. I wasn’t sure you liked me and eventually convinced myself it was impossible. I thought I was friend-zoned. But we still texted and when you asked me to hangout, I truly thought we were just buddies. I came over and you had a few friends with you, proof that we were just friends. But later that night I realized you liked me, that was when it clicked for me. It honestly took me by surprise.

As the night went on, I tried to keep my distance from you and prayed you would not make a move on me. But you did. I want you to know it broke my heart when I told you no, to see you hurt, to see our friendship breaking in front of my eyes. The moment you expressed your feelings to me, I thought that maybe I could, maybe I could give this a try. But I am a practical person and you tend to go with what your heart tells you. All the different factors started to swarm my mind and I realized the difficulties that would ultimately break us: our families, our sisters, our friendship, my work and your sport’s schedule. It was clear to me that we would never see each other and that this spark in front of me would die before it had the chance to burn. It simply did not make sense. So I said no. And I went home and cried.However, I told myself and you, too, that when we were older we could try this possible romance out.

Yet we stopped talking. Completely. You did not talk to me for two years, two fucking years, and I am still angry with you for that. There were times that I needed you and you were not there. You had no excuse and still have no excuse for it because you were fully aware of how my crumbling life. After all, our families are close, our sisters are friends, and you and I were once best friends. Maybe I should have reached out, but I was so sure you hated me and I did not want a confirmation.

So out of the blue, two years later, I got a message from you asking me if we could catch up. We started to talk more and more, purely on a friendship basis. It made me happy because you were in my life again and I missed you. We hung out when we could and for a moment I thought I saw something developing, but that made me distance myself from you instead of bring me closer. Once again I told myself that when we were older and out of college, once we had our lives somewhat put together, we could try this. So I decided this plan by myself because I’m practical, a planner, and you are the one with the big heart. I was selfish and never asked you what you thought of the blueprint I saw for our future. I am sorry about that. I need you to understand that I was scared about what you would say, frightened you would laugh at the idea, but even more, I was petrified you would look me in the eyes and say “okay”. I am still scared.

Summer ended and we both went back to school. I expected our friendship to be a lot like it was the year before: talking on the phone, texting a lot; but it wasn’t, it still isn’t. We don’t talk. I don’t hear from you. I reach out and there is no response. It reminds me of when we were sixteen, except this time I am not sure what I did wrong, if I did anything wrong. I’ve learned you have a girlfriend and I wonder if this influences your decision on not reaching out. I wonder what you told her about me—if you told her about me, and what her opinion is.

This silence between us is breaking me. So I am starting to resent you. In fact, I’m pissed. I cannot believe you are letting the past repeat itself. This time the silence is not caused by me, not my screw up, this time it’s on you. You have nothing to pin on me. And honestly, I don’t care about your reasons, not two flying fucks.

You’ve never asked for an explanation on that night so I’ve never given you one and I am too much of a coward to bring the topic up myself. You probably never will ask for a reason. I don’t know how I feel about that. One part of me yearns to discuss it with you, to make you understand. You probably will never read this letter, but by chance you do, I hope this gives you some sort of insight to my madness. Maybe if you read this you’ll even call me again so we can talk about it.

I’ve been told I have too high of standards; that when it comes to guys, I ask for too much. People have pointed out that while it’s nice to envision a six foot tall man with a winning smile and an ambitious life plan, it’s just too specific. With sympathy in their eyes, they told me it’s unrealistic to dream of a guy who makes a point to come to the front door to pick me up instead of honking the car’s horn or sending me a text saying, “I’m here”. Fantasizing about going out to dinner and having a real, intellectual conversation is sweet, but then expecting my date to pay for the dinner—that got a few laughs. Wanting a man to accept me for who I am on my worst and best days and then also respect me—unheard of. I started to think that maybe everyone was right; maybe I was single because I did expect too much.

I was told that if I chose to lower my standards I would have better luck at love, so I did what they suggested.

I made a new list. I stopped looking for a guy who had a life plan and decided I’d settle for someone who had some sort of idea of what they wanted their life to be like. That wasn’t so bad. I stopped assuming my date would want to come to the door and resolved that a text wouldn’t be that bad, as long as it wasn’t the horn. Maybe expecting my date to pay for dinner was a little too much, but splitting the bill wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Well, at twenty wanting a guy to accept me is maybe asking for too much, but respect, I still needed that.

Still, I was told my standards were too high.

So I revised again. Maybe it was too much to ask for someone to have an idea of what they wanted to do with their life, maybe it was too ambitious. But then again, they type of guy I’m attracted to—excuse me, was attracted to—is ambitious. A smile is important but perhaps not as much as I make it. I shouldn’t expect to be brought on a date, my era is different from my parents; people my age don’t go on dates, we hang out. And then I went from dreaming about a man who respects me to some guy who simply just wants me, and there is a difference between the two. And it wasn’t until “want” took the place of “respect” that I came to the realization that my standards are not too high.

Yet that time I was asked out.

And looking at my new list and comparing it to what it once was….I’ve realized that I shouldn’t have to lower my standards. Instead, I should have to compromise. So maybe that boy doesn’t have the winning smile I always dreamt about, but his laugh can make me laugh for no reason. Maybe he doesn’t exactly know what he wants his life to be like, but his ambition says he will make something of it. Perhaps we don’t go out on dates that much, but when we do, he always comes to the door, knocks, and is amazed by the way I dressed up for him. I should learn to compromise, but I should never have to lower my standards, no matter how high they are. I have the right to have high standards and I have the right to decide which aspects are the most important to me, and I will never compromise respect. I encourage you to do the same.

A hangover and a test do not mix as well as that orange juice and Malibu you had the night before.

You’re going to lose friends.

It is sad but it is true and I know this from personal experience. In fact, you may lose your best friend at some point. You may even have the pleasure of overhearing her and the rest of your roommates talk about you. You will then feel the need to burst in, break up their pity talk, and tell each of them exactly what the other says behind closed doors. Don’t do that. It is not worth it and you are 100% better that. It is easier said than done, but you will get through these hard times.

You will make new, truer friends.

These are the kind of people who are okay with you calling them at any point in the day, or night, to vent and maybe cry about how sucky your day was. In fact, they will call you if they sense there is something wrong and then make you talk about it. And you don’t mind because you know they truly care. They will get angry when your old friends turn on you, and they will assure you that you’re better, that you deserve more. These are the people you can clearly envision in your wedding party. These are the type of friends who you know will stand by you no matter what.

You know that life plan you’ve had since you were 10? Well, that will not work out.

Once again, I know this from experience. So you’ve found out you hate your accounting major and will absolutely scream if you have to do one more problem involving taxes. Or maybe, like me, you’re struggling with the decision to teach secondary or elementary education. Perhaps you have yet to find the man you planned on marrying right out of college. That is okay, too. Either way that life plan is gone, but this is good. It means you’re growing.

You’ll consider dropping out of college.

Particularly during midterms and finals. You might even think about this once a week.

Becoming a stripper will not only seem like a viable option, but also a very appealing career choice.

Once again, midterms and finals will greatly influence this. And then there’s that ugly realization your life plan in no longer applicable….Strippers make a lot of money, right?

At some point there will be a countdown on your phone to let you know the second you turn 21.

In fact, you will set up the countdown on the day you turn 20 (if you haven’t already set it up, that is).

You will start to truly grow up.

It might even scare you, but no worries. You know those new friends I mentioned? They’ll be at your side to calm you down when you think you found a gray hair.

I recently read an article on Thought Catalog written by Danielle Page and her experience on being a starter girlfriend. After reading the article and relating a little too much, I realized that I share something in common with Page: I am also a “starter girlfriend”. But before you stop reading and assume this is a rant directed toward the “evils of men”, listen to why being a starter girlfriend will (hopefully) turn out for the better.
Yes, I am the starter girlfriend. I will root for him and tell him that he can do anything if he puts his mind to it. And he will listen because every word out of my mouth is heartfelt and true. And he will succeed. Hell, I once got a text from an old boyfriend admitting if I had not supported him through his course work, encouraged him to stay in the class when all wanted to do was drop out, he would not be where he is in life. But that didn’t stop him from leaving.
As the starter girlfriend, I will pick up the broken pieces of his shattered heart that his old relationship caused him, and show him that it’s okay to trust someone. Eventually, he’ll believe me. He’ll tell me his secrets, his fears, and he will confide in me and I’ll do the same. He will learn to trust again, but my trust will ultimately be broken by him.
Because I’m a starter girlfriend, I’m patient and understanding, but I’m also starting to get tired of being left. I don’t understand how when you give so much of yourself to someone, and try so hard to make things work, that they only fall apart. It scares me and makes me doubt myself and if I’m worth it.
But there is some guy out there who is referred to as the “starter boyfriend”.
As the starter boyfriend, he always puts his girlfriend before himself. He thinks of how his girlfriend would feel if he flirted with another girl, even if “all of his friends were doing it”. But his girlfriend won’t care. She will still accuse him of cheating and refuse to listen to his side of the story. He may trust her, but she does not trust him. Unlike her, this boyfriend would never accuse someone of such a horrible offense without solid proof.
The starter boyfriend will tell his girlfriend she is beautiful, even when she wears his old t-shirt and has second-day-makeup because she fell asleep before washing her face. She might be embarrassed to look like that around him, but he will not care. He will expect her to have bad, moody days and give her space when she needs it. He will expect the same curtesy, but she may not oblige. Instead, she will nag and demand attention which will only lead to a fight he wanted to avoid. He will introduce her to his family and know they will love her because she is special to him. She won’t understand the importance.
The starter boyfriend will spend time with his girlfriend because he wants to, not just because he wants to have sex. He values the time they spend together. He will mean it when he tells his girlfriend he loves her. He will not throw these words around and use it for just anyone. This is something special to him and maybe she will say it back. Maybe she even means it for that moment and quite a few to follow. But those words will be turned to nothing when she breaks up with him. He will be left broken and once again wondering when someone will give him a true chance.
Out there, somewhere is this twisted and crazy world, there is a boy wondering the same things I am: Why am I not good enough? Why am I always, always, always the second choice? But then we will find each other. And maybe we’ll even be a little guarded at first, expecting the other to leave, but it won’t happen. It won’t happen because we both put effort into relationships and we will fight to make it work. And say it doesn’t. At least we will both know it wasn’t because either of us did not try; instead we will understand some people are just not meant for each other. He will hurt and I will hurt and then we will be move on and with the knowledge that we are good enough and we are first choices. He won’t always be a “starter boyfriend” and I sure as hell won’t always be a “starter girlfriend”.

Throughout my African American Literature English class (what a mouthful!), we have read many novels and nonfiction commentaries. Some novels include Frederick Douglass’s Narrative, Charles Chesnutt’s “The Sheriff’s Children” and Conjuring Stories, and Hannah Crafts’s The Bondwoman’s Narrative. The main commentary we have read are the thoughts of Henry Louis Gates, who is truly is a brilliant man and I encourage all to read him. I’ll list a few of his works at the end of this post. Currently, we are reading Passing by Nella Larsen.

This is my attempt to summarize the book; no worries, there are no spoilers:

The story is a third person narrative of Irene Redfield. Irene is black, but she has light skin and therefore can pass as a white woman when she wants. One day she receives a letter from her childhood friend, Clare. Clare is also part black, but with her blonde hair and skin even lighter than Irene’s, no one would even think guess that she might be African American. And she, mostly, likes that. The letter asks if Irene is willing to meet up with Clare. However, Irene is hesitant. Irene has a flashback to when she first saw Clare after years of not hearing from her. It is not a pleasant memory. Brought back to the present, Irene reluctantly agrees to meet with Clare. As Clare becomes more and more present in Irene’s life, Irene quickly learns that she should have listened to her initial gut feeling.

In my class we talked a lot about the concept of passing. I’ll try to explain the idea of passing to the best of my ability. The idea of passing is that if you have light enough skin you can call yourself “white” and socialize in “white culture”, even if you are part black. Keep in mind that this book is placed in the 1920’s.

Clare is part black like Irene, but she seems to be more “white” that Irene. Even though she was treated like a servant, Clare was raised by a white family. This suggests the concept of environment playing a role in the ability someone has to pass. Clare considers herself white, but also black and in my class we discussed if she has the option to do this. As humans, we want to categorize, but this does not necessarily work with people. Every person fits into multiple categories, even if they try to stay in just one. These attempts are sometimes caused by social pressure to fill gaps. In the book, there is an idea that if you’re white, you’re supposed to act a certain way and live particular type of life, especially if you are an aristocrat. There is also the idea that if you’re black you’re supposed act a certain way and also live a specific kind of life. In my class my professor also mentioned that President Obama also dicusses this problem in his autobiography. He talks about when he was in college and the struggle he faced with his identity. Obama tried to figure out how a black man was supposed to be like, only to discover there is no certain way. Color and race does not determine how someone should act or live. I think that a large part Passing tries to deal with stereotypes and Larsen uses this novel to show just what dangerous stereotypes can be, which is especially present at the end of the book.

I think categorizing is a really sad part of human society. However, I also think humans are working to break these divisions. I know that I am guilty of using some stereotypes and I resent that part of me. I sometimes even stereotype myself, like how white girls can’t dance. But I also know that I can work hard and change that portion of myself and I think we all have that ability. I have friends of many different races, African American, Asian, Latino, Native American (my best friend is actually Native American), and Caucasian. Nella Larsen’s Passing shows just how dangerous stereotypes, categorizing, and the feeling of needing to pass are. I agree with her, they are hazardous. But we can fix this.